


this love may well die

by smallestbrown



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, It's both but yes Happy Ending dw!!, Sasha James Dies, Sasha James Lives, Sasha is just Sasha in that regard, The Web - Freeform, We give Tim tangible reasons to be Even More Repressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallestbrown/pseuds/smallestbrown
Summary: In reality, Tim knows his life hasn’t beenfine, but fine is—shorter. Platitudes are easier. Better to be the same as anyone, in the inescapable way things simplyare.Despite himself, Sasha proves just as inescapable. And some spiders have plans of their own.
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	this love may well die

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to try. To write a web-centric timsasha multi-chap. Buckle in boys.

_There are spiders in my house_ , writes Jessica Frontenac; Tim double-checks the case number before he keeps reading. It's off to a great start. Frontenac’s longhand is a little difficult to read; she loops all of her e’s into whatever letter precedes them, and forgets to cross her t’s seemingly at random. At least at Bloomberg, manuscripts were typed; in the Archives, reading statements is its own kind of nightmare.

That’s probably fitting, Tim thinks.

_Up the stairs and down the halls and in the sink. I don’t know where they come from. They pour from the drain when I try to run the water. They’re in my sheets and in my hair._

_I inherited the house, you know. It’s been in my family since my grandmother was a child. I spent my childhood here; my daughter spent her childhood here. And now the spiders have webbed up the kitchen like a playground._

Tim thinks his life has been—fine. He took swimming lessons, and went to birthday parties, and wet the bed and skinned his knees. He did his homework, and got his tests signed, and got better at forging the signature. He had his first beer; he had his first date. First breakup. First job. Same as anyone.

_The rooms are quiet except for their hurrying. In the mornings, I find their silk in the cracks of my skin. I think they’re writing something, but I can’t quite read it._

In reality, Tim knows his life hasn’t been _fine_ , but fine is—shorter. Platitudes are easier. Better to be the same as anyone, in the inescapable way that things simply _are_.

_I suppose I shouldn’t mind. When you think about it, shouldn’t they have nested here sooner? Shouldn’t this have happened from the start?_

_Don’t spiders need to feed too?_

Something cold, horrible, and familiar scurries down his spine. Tim shakes himself and checks his watch, looking out across the office space. 

“D’you wanna go for drinks, Sasha?”

She glances up at him, her glasses low on her nose in a way that makes her eyes look immense. Tim blinks away the planet-sized holes they carve in him, while Sasha makes a show of mulling it over. “Hmmm,” she hums, “I _guess_ I can finish this tomorrow… I _hate_ to leave this follow-up unfinished… But if I _really_ have to…”

She breaks character and grins. He grins back. “Attagirl.” He rises to get his things.

“Martin?” Sasha offers. “Are you joining us?”

Martin looks up, startled. He’s new to the Archives, and painfully shy; he stammers more than not, and cradles his mugs like he wants to curl up in them. 

“Ah, sorry, where?” Martin asks, flustered.

“Drinks! Pub! Friends!” Tim’s already got his jacket on, so he comes to lean against Martin’s desk, folding his arms across his chest, aiming for something hallway between inviting and indisputable.

“Uh, I’m not—”

“You can finish whatever you’re working on tomorrow. I’ll even buy first round!” 

Martin looks at him with a crease between his eyebrows, clearly torn and anxious. Sweet Martin. Couldn’t hide his feelings to save his life. Tim almost envies him for it.

He reaches over carefully and takes hold of the pen clutched in Martin’s grip. “I’ll _even_ help with paperwork,” he offers.

“That’s a rare mercy, coming from Tim,” Sasha says from her desk. She pulls on her cardigan, looking warm and kind. “Think you’d better take him up on it, Marto.”

Martin’s worry smoothes out somewhat. His hold on the pen loosens enough for Tim to sneak it out of his grip and into the penholder; Martin stares at it for a moment, then nods, once.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Tim echoes. Martin smiles to himself.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll come.”

Tim grins and pumps his fist. He picks up his bag and holds the door open for Sasha while Martin grabs his things.

“Charmed,” she teases as she walks past, and Tim winks at her.

The walk to the pub is short enough, the late June wind fresh on their cheeks. He asks Martin about the book he’s reading, and Sasha chimes in with all variety of impressive facts. From time to time, Tim can shove his hands into the pockets of his slacks and just listen to them talk aimlessly. He feels something low and light in his stomach. 

They slide into a booth and order their drinks. Tim and Sasha pretend to know everyone at the pub and take turns describing the patrons to one another; when Martin catches on, Tim is utterly delighted by how deviously poetic his assessments are. It’s friendly and fun, and exactly the kind of surface-level entertainment Tim can bear to shoulder.

After their drinks have come and Sasha’s needled Tim into ordering a plate of chips for them, he catches Martin on his third wistful sigh of the night.

“Alright, bud,” Tim nudges him playfully. “What’s up?”

“Hm? Oh—uh, nothing really,” Martin starts. Tim and Sasha exchange looks, and Martin sighs again.

“That’s four,” Sasha says, glancing at Tim significantly, and he rolls his eyes in response.

“It’s just—" Martin stares down into his pint. He inhales, and on the exhale breathes, “I haven’t... Had much a chance to _do_ this kind of thing. It’s _nice_.”

“What’s that?” Sasha asks. Martin looks up, rallying courage.

“Oh, just—out for drinks I guess. With the _office_ , as it were.”

Sasha smiles—one of those kind ones she uses when comfort is called for, but always seems to sneer at when it’s directed at her. “Old jobs didn’t make it work? You were at Manchester General before here, yeah?” 

Tim watches Martin break eye contact with Sasha tersely, his mouth sort of gaping uncertainly as he tries to think of an answer. He swings an arm around Martin’s shoulder.

“I think we’re just all that more charming, Sash,” Tim interrupts. “Seriously. Give us a _little_ credit.”

Sasha meets his eyes, and it’s—funny, what she can do just by looking at him. She’s not even trying.

Martin’s tension deflates almost audibly. “Yeah. Yeah.” He looks to Tim gratefully. “I’ll uh—go get us another round, yeah?”

Tim loosens his hold on Martin, and he and Sasha sound off in thanks at the same time as Martin leaves their table. She sips the last of her cider and considers him, that same Sasha look in her eyes. Always pressing him in place. Like a moth pinned to a board by its wings.

The thought makes his pulse quicken, though not altogether unpleasantly. Tim isn’t sure how much of it is anxious, how much of it is ache. 

“Did you go out with coworkers much at your old job?” Sasha asks.

Tim shrugs and takes a calculated sip of his beer. “Sometimes. Kept to myself a bit more at Bloomberg.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she chides, nudging his shoulder.

“New job, new leaf! What can I say.” Tim throws her his best smile—all disarming ease and teeth. Sasha’s lips twitch downward, but she leaves it. 

“A real social butterfly,” she deadpans.

"I don’t see _you_ complaining!”

“Oh please. You wouldn’t hear it even if I did.”

“But you _don’t_.”

“Not that _you_ know.” Tim laughs and nudges her shoulder back, and they trade barbs until Martin comes back with their drinks.

The smiles work, he thinks—certainly better than cold and distant ever did. And Sasha’s right, technically; at Bloomberg, people got too curious about his sudden shift to closed-off and cranky, caught up in some weird, annoying desire to be the _one_ person who could crack his shell.

Friends are easier to keep at exactly an arm’s distance. It doesn’t matter how close they think they are; as long as Tim knows where his walls are, then he’s safe.

Then _they’re_ safe.

Eventually, ever-reliable Sasha decides that they should leave before it gets too late. They walk Martin to his bus stop, traipse off to catch the train, and it’s tipped past the crowded rush enough that they can grab seats next to each other. Sasha tilts her head onto his shoulder, and they ride a few more stops in the quiet hum of small crowds and rickety rails.

“That was nice,” he says eventually, breaking the silence. “With Martin.”

“It was. He’s sweet, once he gets out of his shell.”

“It’ll be _ages_ before we get him _and_ Jon to come out with us.”

Sasha whines plaintively. “He’s so hard on him! None of us were any good when we started here.”

“Speak for your—actually, no, you’re just being nice, aren’t you?” Tim accuses her, jostling his shoulder a bit. Sasha laughs. “How _dare_ you. There’s no way you brought anything but your A-game when you transferred to the Archives.”

She grins. “ _Generally_ speaking, I mean.”

“ _Generally speaking_ ,” Tim parrots. She smacks his arm and he chuckles as she leans back against him.

Tim watches their reflection in the darkened window. It’s companionable. He likes the way she fits against him. Likes the texture of her tight, dark curls brushing against his neck. It’s close, and warm, and easy and despite himself it feels really, really good—until he catches sight of something dark and eight-legged on the ground, and then it feels far away, and frightening.

Sasha must feel him tense. She straightens up slowly, and gives him a small smile. Tim hopes he returns it convincingly. He probably doesn’t.

“Stop’s next,” Sasha says, picking up her bag.

“Text me when you’re home?” Tim asks, before he can stop himself.

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, _Mum_ ,” she teases. Easy and inconsequential, like he knew she would. Like he knew she'd been counting Martin’s sighs at the pub as well. She waves as she steps off the platform, and Tim throws a lazy salute.

When he gets to his flat, Tim flops ungraciously onto his bed, shuffling awkwardly to get under his sheets. The soft buzz of alcohol and uncomplicated friendships has dissipated with the rest of his commute, where he could almost still feel the ghost pressure of Sasha’s head on his shoulder. He plugs in his phone, pops in his earbuds, and turns on his music.

Silence grates on him. Alone, at night, his thoughts come loud and angry, unforgiving. Taut and stretched. High-pitched and bright, red and black. He searches around for his phone blindly under his pillow and turns up the volume a bit, when it vibrates suddenly in his palm.

 _Home safe, by the way,_ Sasha texts, _You big baby._

Tim catches himself smiling, then clenches his jaw in frustration. He picks a random emoji from his recents and shuts his phone, plunging the room into darkness again.

A spider scurries by on the window. It immobilizes itself in the very center, silk shining in the moonlight. And it waits.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! i'm very excited about the premise of this fic, and i promise things will kick into high gear with the next chapter... in the meantime i'm on [tumblr](https://smallestbrown.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/smallestbrown)! partying hard and thinking about timsasha consistently.


End file.
